


Rhopalocera

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Beelzebub were friends in Heaven, Gen, Prompt Fill, after apocadon't days, background estabilished A/C, gratitous use of flashbacks, re-discovery of a friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22454014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: Crowley was no idiot, so it didn’t exactly surprise Aziraphale when he said, after a long, silent pause, “…Who did you knew, Aziraphale?”Aziraphale did not reply.“I know it’s not me, because as we just established, I remember. I would’ve remembered you, but no— We met in Eden. So, who is it?”“…I’m not sure,” Aziraphale muttered, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. Crowley grunted.“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t get mad at you for asking, but I will get mad at you for this. Who is it, Aziraphale?”“I—“ Aziraphale worked his throat, nervously looked up. “…Beelzebub.”“What?”
Comments: 21
Kudos: 325
Collections: Gorgeous_things





	Rhopalocera

**Author's Note:**

> Saw [this prompt](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=1317992) on the kinkmeme. Thought it'd be fun to try write something for it, so I did.
> 
> Hope it'll be fun to read, too.
> 
> (I have no idea if there's an entomology section in the British Museum and by a brief research I did on the site it doesn't seems so, but considering GO takes place in a universe where the planet is actually 6000 years old I'd argue that's not really particularly important. Sorry if I offend any British Museum fan.)

“Oi—“ Crowley followed that little exhale with an exasperated groan, and Aziraphale turned to him, perplexed.

“…Did I do something wrong?”

He couldn’t imagine what— They’d literally spent the past hour in companionable silence, watching a movie (Aziraphale had, admittedly, started to find Crowley’s intimidatingly large television rather nice, especially since they’ve grown the habit of watching an animated movie each week. Aziraphale really liked animated movies. Even when the plots were hardly ground-breaking, there was something amazingly creative in that particular medium that he could really appreciate). And they were doing that while— Well, cuddling. Crowley sprawled backwards with a leg on the coffee table, both arms on the backrest of the couch. Aziraphale was huddled against him, head tucked under Crowley’s chin. At some point after the first ten minutes of the movie, Crowley’s arm had slid down to circle Aziraphale’s shoulders, a pleasing point of solid warmth against him.

Maybe he’d started making little comments aloud? He was prone to do that, not that Crowley ever protested about it—

“ ‘Course not, Angel,” Crowley reassured him, pushing a kiss against his hair. “It’s— Look, just let me up, I’ll be right back. No need to pause the movie, I’ve seen this one already.”

Aziraphale was already mourning the lack of warmth the second Crowley disentangled himself off the couch, and he silently watched as Crowley slinked out of the room. He would’ve done just as Crowley said, he was not exactly worried— Maybe Crowley just forgot to take the tea they had earlier out of his system and had to use the loo the human way, it wouldn’t be the first time.

But the scene was so awfully heart wrenching, with the nice dog protecting his fox friend, and Aziraphale already could feel the vague sting in his eyes that usually happened when a movie pulled at his heart strings. Which was often enough, and Crowley had always been there to squeeze him closer and nuzzle him affectionately, never teasing him for being so soft—

He fumbled with the remote a bit, but managed to pause the movie. He sniffed a little and then heard— Voices.

They were too muffled for Aziraphale to really make out words, although the familiar timbre of one of the voices clued him into the fact Crowley was conversing with someone. The idea that Crowley might’ve just ordered some takeaway rapidly flew out the window. He never stopped to chit-chat, Crowley, either gave a very nice tip if the poor sod knocking at his door had been satisfactorily quick, or made sure they’d step on a dog poo on the sidewalk if they hadn’t.

(Aziraphale still made sure to put a little tip in their pocket when that happened. For the trouble.)

Unable to hold his curiosity, Aziraphale rose, padding on socked feet out the living room and down the corridor of Crowley’s stark apartment.

“…Seriously, you are barking up the wrong tree—“

“I don’t bark!”

“You bark, a bit. Alright, you are buzzing up the wrong tree, then—“

Aziraphale’s heart rose in his throat. He’d recognize that voice even if he hadn’t heard it in— Well, just barely over a year ago, at that point.

(And back then he hadn’t heard that voice in more than six thousand years.)

Aziraphale stepped into the kitchen, half ready to summon his sword from wherever it had been shipped off, if necessary. But there was hardly anything making him feel he should be steeling himself for a fight. Both demons were simply— Standing at a distance from one another, looking disgruntled, and turned toward him with a deer-in-the-headlight expression as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Angel—“ Crowley choked, clearly already falling in hyper-worrying mode.

“Oh, so that’s what this zztench waz,” Beelzebub, prince of Hell, declared, their nose scrunching. “Should’ve expected it.”

“Fuck off,” Crowley snapped at them, not-so-subtly stepping between them and Aziraphale. “Angel, get back to the movie. Beezy was just about to go, weren’t you?”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Beelzebub snapped, impatient. “I’m not going anywhere until you give it back!”

“Give what back?” Aziraphale asked, tilting an eyebrow, and staying very well firm in his spot despite Crowley’s hand on his shoulder trying to push him away.

“It’s nothing, BeeBee thinks I got something of ‘em that I don’t _actually have_,” Crowley snapped, launching a squinting glare toward Beelzebub. Beelzebub glared back, clearly not pleased by the perversion of their name at every each sentence.

“I know you have it, you _zznake_. Just give it back, and I’ll be out of your hair—“

“I don’t!”

“Give _what_ back?” Aziraphale insisted, exasperated. Crowley finally stopped trying to push him out of the room, sighing.

“They think I have a cursed knife. Have no idea why. Never been a fan of knives, me—“

Aziraphale tilted an eyebrow, looking at Beelzebub’s glare pointed at Crowley, and Crowley’s clear annoyance, and— Well.

“…I might have something like that.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. He wasn’t wearing his glasses -he rarely did, these days-, and the full-yellow of surprise gave him an air of a couple of headlights in the dark.

“You what?”

“You gave it to me, actually.”

“I _what_?!”

“You nicked a curzzzed Hell blade and gave it to your bloody feathered boyfriend?!” Beelzebub interjected, voice strangely shrill. It tugged at Aziraphale’s heart, just a tiny bit.

“I— Did?” Crowley replied, clearly lost. Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle, just a bit hysterical.

“You gave it to me around the 12th century. Said it would help out if humans ever tried to burn me at the stakes— You were very, _very_ sloshed, also.”

“…Oh.”

Beelzebub made a noise not unlike a boiling kettle.

“I— Well, I never used it, but I made sure to keep it safe. Hidden—“ Aziraphale coughed primly, voice lowering. “You know my track record with— With bladed weapons.”

“Oh,” Crowley repeated, just as softly. “Shit. I didn’t remember that at all—“

“You were. Um. Very upset about the Spanish inquisition.”

“…That would explain it.”

“Fine!” Beelzebub exploded, arms thrown out, clearly out of patience. ”I don’t care who got the bloody thing! I just want it back!”

“What for?” Crowley demanded, back to squinting.

“None of your buzzzinezz, traitor!”

“Hey! I thought we had an agreement!” Crowley snapped, pointing a finger at Beelzebub. “_You_ came into my house, _you_ accused me out of the blue—“

“Well, I wazzz right, wazzzn’t I?!”

“—And _I_ was gracious enough not to kick your sorry arse right back from where you came from the second you came here to stink up the place with sulphur! So, answers. Now.”

Beelzebub made a growling noise. Crowley stood with both hands on his hips. Aziraphale fidgeted, hands in front of his chest.

“…Fine,” Beelzebub conceded, grumpy. “We’ve been doing zzzome renovating—“

Crowley tilted an eyebrow, Beelzebub ignored it.

“—Counting of zztock—“

“Really?”

“Fuck off, it’s your fault I have to keep ten million demonzzz buzy, somehow!” Beelzebub pinched the bridge of his nose. “Big guy noticed the knife mizzing.”

“—That’s it? The Morningstar lost one of his toys and he’s crying about it?”

If glares could kill, Crowley would’ve long dropped dead on the floor.

“He got that made with the blood of hiz enemiez. Literally. He wants it back.”

Aziraphale grimaced. He’d wondered back then why the knife felt _that_ cursed. Now he had an answer, he supposed.

Crowley sighed deeply, massaging his eyes. Then he looked at Aziraphale, who shrugged.

“You really think we should give something like that back?” Crowley asked, almost as if Beelzebub wasn’t right there, seething.

“I hardly think that is the only dangerous weapon Hell has—“

“You have no idea, featherzz.”

“—And I suppose if we want to— Ah, keep a cordial relationship… Or lack thereof… We might as well just give it back.”

Crowley worked his lower lip, and this time Aziraphale went without protest when he was pushed away a bit more, Crowley’s voice lowering.

“Angel, you sure?” he asked, low enough so Beelzebub couldn’t hear. Strangely enough they stayed put, even if it was clear on their face they did not like the situation, not one bit. “I know you want to get Beez out of your hair, so do I, but a weapon like that…”

“I’m pretty sure the— Curse-ness is mostly gone,” Aziraphale replied just as low. “I’ve kept it near me since then, and I can’t really feel that dark energy anymore. When you were in the bookshop alone when— You know— You didn’t feel it, did you?”

“…No,” Crowley replied softly, after some seconds of focus. “No, I would’ve felt something like that. I suppose being near an Angel for centuries has probably placated all those angry souls. And maybe Adam took care of whatever was left—”

“So it’s basically just a very finely carved knife. It should be alright, I suppose.”

“Fine,” Crowley conceded with a sigh, turning toward Beelzebub. They were standing with their arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Are you two done zzzcheming?”

“No scheming, here, Bubby. We’ll give you the bloody knife, as long as you promise to leave us the _fuck alone_.”

“It’s not like I’m having any fun,” Beelzebub replied, almost weary. “Just want to make Lucifer stop whining. You know how he getzz.”

“Do I ever,” Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, huh— Aziraphale can go get the knife and we wait here, where you can’t damage anything—“

“Do you think I’m zztupid?! I’m not letting your boyfriend go call hiz other feathered friendzz—“

“I—“

“And I’m not letting _you_ following _him_ anywhere—“

“If I may—“

“I’ve had it with your little planzz and mind gamezz, Crowley—“

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Aziraphale snapped, stomping a foot down. It should’ve made no noise, considering he was only in socks, but a rumble not unlike thunder echoed in the room, commanding silence. Beelzebub and Crowley turned to him, back to the deer-in-the-headlight look. “Enough! Crowley, you go get the knife, I’ll tell you where it’s hidden. I’ll stay here.”

“Angel!”

“It’s fine. It won’t take you long. I’d have to take down all the wards in the bookshop to let um— To let Beelzebub in, and that would take hours. And I think we all want to get this done quickly.”

“Zzzure want,” Beelzebub mumbled.

“So, I’ll stay here, as insurance we aren’t scheming anything. You go. Tit for tat, I suppose.”

Crowley launched him a pleading look, but Aziraphale knew he would soon give up. Crowley could read him like an open book, and he was well aware that, when Aziraphale got his mind set onto something, there was no amount of words that would ever change it. Crowley groaned, massaging his eyes.

“Fine!” he then snapped, and turned to glare at Beelzebub. “If you turn even a single hair on his head I swear to G— Sat— _Something_ that I’ll get down there, and destroy _all of you_, am I clear?”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes, methodically. “Zzave me the theatricz. I won’t touch you little toy.”

Aziraphale tried not to get hurt by that, as Crowley growled, and then leaned in to speak in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Angel, if something bad happens I will be _pissed_.“

“Nothing will happen—”

“Just be safe,” Crowley interjected, something frail in his tone. He leaned in a bit more, pushing a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek. “C’mon, lay it on me. I’ll try to be quick.”

A hasty, whispered explanation of where to find and how to unlock one of the safes in the bookshop, and Crowley was gone. Aziraphale knew he was going to teleport himself right there and back, even if that always left him a bit discombobulated. He’d probably return with the knife in a matter of minutes.

Still, he couldn’t deny that he felt suddenly— Tense. Not worried, not really, but—

When was the last time they stood in the same room, alone? Aziraphale couldn’t recall.

“Can I, huh— Tea?” he asked, desperately uncomfortable. Beelzebub, who looked very much like they hardly enjoyed the situation as well, blinked at him in clear surprise.

“What?”

“Ah, well— I suppose you haven’t—“ Aziraphale worked his throat, adjusting his bowtie, pulling at the hem of his waistcoat. “It’s— Good hospitality, you know? Offering something to drink?”

“I’m not here for _hozzpitality_, featherz. And I don’t put human— _Stuff_ in my corporation—“

Aziraphale groaned. “No, I suppose not. You sound like Gabriel—“

Beelzebub startled, and squinted at him. “Ezxcuze me?!”

“It’s what he always says,” Aziraphale replied with a helpless little shrug. Then he put his chest out, just a tiny bit, speaking in a mocking tone. “_I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with gross matter._”

Beelzebub’s eyes went a little wide as they stared at him, mouth opening. Then closing. Then opening again. They squinted.

“…I’ll drink it,” they then said, slowly. “The— Tea.”

Aziraphale blinked, taken aback. “You will?”

“Don’t make me repeat myzelf!”

Aziraphale found himself smiling. It was ridiculous, he knew it was ridiculous, but he could not hold it back. He padded toward the stove with almost a skip in his step, and he knew Crowley would probably scream himself ragged if he ever saw Aziraphale show his back to another Demon so trustingly—

But well, what Crowley didn’t see, he didn’t necessarily had to know.

Beelzebub stayed silent as he fiddled around with the kettle, took out two clean cups, mulled over the selection of tea that had made its appearance ever since Aziraphale started to spend quite a lot of time in Crowley’s flat.

_Ah, yes— They might like this one_, Aziraphale thought to himself merrily as he took out the box of pomegranate tea. _They liked the smell of pomegranate, back then—_

When he put the steaming cups on the table and sat Beelzebub seemed— Almost disarmed by his cheerfulness. Clearly taken aback, and at a loss of words, they sat on the other side of the table, dubiously dragging the cup toward themselves.

“It will be very hot, you better blow on it a bit, or it’ll hurt,” Aziraphale said gently, and then did it himself, almost as if instructing a baby bird. “Tiny sips. See?”

Beelzebub still looked dubious. They blew on the mug, causing the steam to swirl away, but then instead of drinking they looked back up at Aziraphale.

“You mock your zzuperiorz often?”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “Not really, no. Not for— Ah, for lack of wanting to. But it is a rather recent development, in lieu of the fact that, well— I don’t have ‘superiors’ anymore, don’t I?”

“Zzzupoze not,” Beelzebub replied, rising the mug to their mouth, but still not drinking. “Got zzacked too, huh?”

Aziraphale could only offer a shrug, a tilted smile on his mouth. Finally, Beelzebub took a tiny sip. Their eyes widened just slightly, and they looked down in the mug. Took a bigger sip.

“…This is alright, I zuppoze,” they then said, and once more a strangely disarmed expression seemed to go by their faces, when Aziraphale _beamed_. “…You are a zztrange Angel.“

Aziraphale’s breath caught. He’d never been stabbed, at least not to the point of discorporation (thanks in no small part to Crowley), but this?

This was probably how it felt to get a blade plunged right in one’s chest.

He let out a strange noise, almost between an hysterical chuckle and a sob. Beelzebub frowned.

“…I don’t want trouble with that bloody znake, what haz gotten into you?” they asked, somewhat concerned. Aziraphale shook his head.

“Nothing— It’s nothing. I’m fine—“

“You clearly are not, featherz.”

“I’m fine, Han— I’m fine.“

Aziraphale stared down at his mug at that almost-slip of the tongue, seeing his pale reflection in the dark red tea.

He didn’t have the time to try and look up.

“Angel!” Crowley exclaimed, popping back into the kitchen, followed by a vague smell of sulphur. “Your safe was the most fussy bastard I’ve ever— Huh.”

He froze in the act of waving around the sheathed knife mid-air, looking at the scene in front of him with his mouth forming a little ‘o’ of surprise.

With a loud scraping of wood on stone Beelzebub stood, snatched the knife directly from Crowley’s hand, and disappeared without a word, a loud pop and an even stronger smell of sulphur.

Aziraphale didn’t even manage to steal a single glance at their expression.

“…Was Beezy drinking tea?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, feeling suddenly, impossibly tired.

“You offered tea to a prince of Hell.”

“Yes.”

“And they drank it.”

“Mh.”

Crowley let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible. Five minutes with Lucifer and you’d probably convince him to start a shelter for rejected Hellhounds.”

“I highly doubt it,” Aziraphale replied flatly, banishing both barely-touched teas into the sink. Crowley immediately quieted, a little frown emerging.

“Aziraphale?”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale replied before Crowley could ask. “Just— Tired. Hope something like this won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, no, same,” Crowley sighed, sneaking and arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “C’mon, Angel, let’s get back to the movie. You can have a little cry and let all the stress go.”

Aziraphale leaned into the touch and followed, silent.

—

_“You are a strange Angel,”_

_Aziraphale froze, and looked up._

_There was an Angel he never met before, looming over him. Long, silky black hair framed their round-ish face, a pair of vivacious teal eyes on a fair complexion looked down at him with amusement. Aziraphale worked his throat nervously._

_He was never sure how to take those kinds of declarations. So far, whenever he’s been referred to as— Out of the ordinary in any way, it had mostly been with an undertone of pity and sneer Aziraphale found displeasing._

_Not that he ever could explain that sensation. This was Heaven. _ ** _Nothing_ ** _ was supposed to be displeasing._

_“…Why do you say that?” he asked, not moving from his crouching position. The other Angel bent down on their knees._

_“Most don’t like my creations very much,” they replied, simply, allowing a small creature that shone like a precious gem to crawl on their finger._

_“Oh! You made these?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his cheeks pink in excitement. He was still cupping the curious little creature in both hands, looking at it go. “That’s marvellous! What are they?”_

_“This is a beetle—“ the other Angel replied, holding up their finger, where the shining creature was lazily crawling along. “The one you are holding is a ladybug. They are called ‘bugs’, in general, although there are many different species.”_

_A ladybug! Aziraphale looked down at the little thing, giggling. “I like this one, all these funny spots— You made all of them?”_

_“Well, not all. Just some.”_

_“Still! That is amazing! I—“ Aziraphale hesitated, taking time as he put a finger in front of the little creature, which started to crawl up on it much like the beetle was doing along the other Angel’s fingers. “Sometimes I wish I’ve been placed into a creations team—“_

_“What is your role?” the other Angel asked, tilting their head on a side._

_“Well, right now— Nothing, really. I will be guarding the walls of Eden once the Almighty is done with Her new creations,” he sighed, and jumped slightly when the ladybug suddenly opened up, two shiny semi-transparent membranes popping out its back. It took flight, and Aziraphale watched it go, mouth slightly open. “They can fly!”_

_“Some of them, not all,” the other Angel replied airily. “But guarding Her new creations! That’s not too shabby!”_

_“Haven’t got much to do, right now,” Aziraphale groused, finally climbing back up on his feet. As he dusted his knees the other Angel also stood, gently blowing on the beetle on their finger, letting it fly away. “All I’m doing for now is just— Walking around. Familiarising myself with the Garden— The plant creators keep shooing me away.”_

_“They are no fun. They grumped at me for ages after I started on caterpillars. So what if they eat some leaves? It’s not like they are going to murder their precious plants!” _

_“Ugh, don’t get my started. Yophiel keeps telling me to stop walking on the lawn—“ Aziraphale put both hands on his hips, taking on a mocking tone. “_ ** _We are working to bring the beauty of the Almighty, here, stop tramping all over our efforts!_ ** _ And then they got all huffy when I reminded them all living creatures will walk on their precious lawn. Honestly.”_

_The other Angel barked a laugh, after blinking at him in clear surprise. Once they were done, still grinning, they offered a hand._

_“I’m Hanael.”_

_“Oh! Hello. I’m Aziraphale.”_

_“Nice to meet you, Aziraphale— So, want to come with me and see how I make some more caterpillars?”_

_Aziraphale giggled again, amused, and followed._

—

If Aziraphale had to be entirely honest with himself, there were things he’d rather keep buried deep, deep down, never to be reached again.

But as time went after his and Crowley’s… Retirement, he was finding it harder and harder to push those thoughts away.

Maybe it was how after millennia of repressing himself, out of fear, or misplaced loyalty, or an unhealthy mix of both, his entire being was simply— Rebelling. Breaking free of those chains, roaring back up to the surface, no matter how much Aziraphale would rather— Not. How much he would prefer to just… Enjoy this, enjoy this new freedom and how much time he could finally spend with the one he loved—

But those thoughts tickled in the back of his mind, never acknowledged, and yet there. Looming, waiting, muscles coiled, ready to strike—

“Crowley…”

“Mh?”

“Can I ask you something? Without you getting mad?”

Crowley stilled on the armchair, and then turned around in a way human spines usually did not allow. He tipped his chin down, to look at Aziraphale, almost as if he were actually wearing his sunglasses. Some habits die hard, Aziraphale figured.

“That’s not exactly a tall order, Angel, considering I don’t really get mad at you—“

“You _do_.”

“I don’t! Maybe I can get a bit snippy, and grumble a little, but I won’t—“

“It’saboutthefall!”

Crowley’s mouth snapped shut. His eyebrow rose.

“Come again?”

“It’s… I have some questions about. Demons. And the Fall.”

“…You are not falling if that’s what you fear—“

“I don’t! It’s not about me, it’s—“

He trailed off. Crowley was still looking at him with raised eyebrows. With a sigh, he slung himself off the armchair, snakeskin boots clicking against the parquet as he came closer, leaning against Aziraphale’s cluttered desk.

“What is it about, then?” he asked, softly and patient, if a touch weary.

“I— There are some questions nagging at me,” Aziraphale admitted, avoiding his eyes. His fingers drummed the edge of the desk nervously. “I never allowed myself to think about those— Doubts. It just wasn’t feasible, not when— But now I don’t have to worry about— And I—“

“Angel,” Crowley interjected, strangely patient. “Breathe. Just— Ask what you want to know, and we’ll see.”

Working his lower lip, Aziraphale looked up. Crowley looked back, expressionless, but his golden eyes were as full of warmth as always.

“…Alright,” Aziraphale said, almost a whisper. “I— I was wondering if you remember. How it was. In Heaven.”

“Yes,” Crowley replied, curt, but not unkind.

“Do— Do all Demons remember how it was? Before?”

“Ah, that’s more tricky—“ Crowley said, pensive, shifting his weight on his other foot. “The easy answer is no, not all. Not most, actually.”

“No? How— How does it work?”

“Mh— Not sure,” Crowley muttered. “It’s— A choice, I think. Not one made consciously. There’s no one with some paperwork to sign before you plunge off a cloud at lightyears speed. No desk drone monotonously asking ‘would you prefer to retain your memories of Grace before eternal damnation?’. No, it’s just— I guess it depends on what one wants to make of oneself. Most Demons don’t want to remember, so they don’t.”

“…But you do.”

“But I do, yes,” Crowley said, measured. “I do, because I wanted to. I wanted to remember. To me it felt like it made the most sense, remembering. So I could— Stay myself, and never find myself wondering why I was damned. I preferred to keep in mind the reasons I became what I became, even if it hurt like fuck-all. I think it’s what kept me sane through it all.”

“…Oh,” Aziraphale exhaled, voice very, _very_ tiny. “Do you— Do you think Demons who chose to forget lost— Lost their sanity?”

“Nah. It’d be full of snarling, drooling, mindless beast down there, in that case. No, there are surprisingly little snarling, drooling, mindless beasts. Most of them just don’t want to— To think about it. Prefer to go with the flow. Listen to orders— It’s easy to listen to orders, do as they are told. It keeps the doubts at bay.”

“But not you.”

“Not me. There are very few down there, who chose to remember. I think it’s why Lucifer sent me up here in the first place— He wanted someone with a more nuanced understanding to go cause some trouble. Worked well enough, I suppose, until it didn’t.”

“Does Lucifer remember?”

“Oh, yeah, the bastard loves to commiserate. He’d never pass on the chance to remember exactly how he’s been wronged.”

“And— And the other— You know, other Demons higher on the hierarchy? Princes and dukes?”

“Not quite sure, to be honest. Never spoke about this with them— Pretty much no one likes to speak about this stuff, really,” Crowley paused, tilting his head on a side. He was letting his hair grow once more, a slightly curly tuft escaping the lazy bun to loll in front of his face. “Why are you so curious?”

“…We all remember,” Aziraphale said, slowly, avoiding his eyes. “After— After that. We all remembered. We still do. Everyone lost at least a friend, after the War. But— We never spoke about it. We pretended nothing happened, that— That the ‘adversary’ had been there from the start. It was easier, pretending— Made it easier to think that, one day, we’d have to face in battle just a nameless, faceless enemy and not— Not our brothers and sisters, not someone we once held dear—“

He could feel Crowley’s gaze firmly pointed at him, almost hear the cogs turning in his head.

Crowley was no idiot, so it didn’t exactly surprise Aziraphale when he said, after a long, silent pause, “…Who did you knew, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale did not reply.

“I know it’s not me, because as we just established, I remember. I would’ve remembered you, but no— We met in Eden. So, who is it?”

“…I’m not sure,” Aziraphale muttered, fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. Crowley grunted.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t get mad at you for asking, but I will get mad at you for this. Who is it, Aziraphale?”

“I—“ Aziraphale worked his throat, nervously looked up. “…Beelzebub.”

“_What_?”

“We— We were friends, back then. If… If it’s really them. I mean— They obviously look a bit different, but—“

“_Aziraphale_—“

“But. I think. I think it’s them,” Aziraphale finished, lamely, ignoring Crowley’s interjections. The silence that followed was— Thick.

“Jesus _fuck_, Aziraphale— Did you offer Beezy tea because of this?”

“I don’t know, I—“ Aziraphale sighed. Took a second. Pushed his chair backwards, standing as Crowley slung himself off the desk. “I think I would’ve offered it regardless. I was— A bit nervous, I had to admit.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Crowley replied, acidly. “You asked me to leave you alone with a _Demon_—“

“I’m usually alone with a Demon.”

Crowley levelled such a deadpan look at him Aziraphale would’ve felt bad, hadn’t it been for the tiny twitch at the corner of Crowley’s mouth, who was clearly fighting against a smile.

“You know what I mean, you bastard,” he then said, fondly exasperated. “Of course you were nervous. _I_ was scared shitless.”

“But you went along with it—“

“Yes, because you are a stubborn arsehole! And I knew Beez is too scared of me, for now, to try and do something funny. But if you think I’m _ever_ leaving you alone with any other Demon ever again—“

“I can defend myself in a pinch, dear.”

“I’d rather not test that theory,” Crowley replied, and then sighed, leaning in to rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “…So, what now?” he added, softly.

“…I don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted, lazily circling Crowley’s waist with both arms. “I don’t have a plan or— Or any idea— I don’t know if I should do anything about this. I just… I just wanted to know, I suppose. Kept thinking about it.”

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Crowley replied, even softer. “I don’t know if Beez remembers. If they do— Well, I don’t think they much care to rekindle that friendship. If they don’t—“

“I suppose the end result would be about the same,” Aziraphale said, tiredly, when Crowley trailed off. “It doesn’t change much, does it? Me trying to find out. All I did was to poke at your bad memories. I’m sorry, my dear.”

“Ah, whatever. Mostly got to terms with all that. Perks of remembering,” Crowley replied, voice muffled against Aziraphale’s neck. “Sucked ass for the first few millennia, but then I— You know, started to compartmentalise. Took apart old memories and found my own answers— Those who forgot? They will always stew in the same doubts, over and over and over. I don’t think I’d be able to live like that. It’s alright. I can talk about it.”

“Mh,” was all Aziraphale said, a thumb stroking Crowley’s side. He nuzzled between his soft, fiery curls, placing a little kiss on the crown of his head. “Still. I should’ve just— Told you about it from the start, instead of going at it in such a roundabout way. It seems I can’t shake off these bad habits, after all—“

“Aziraphale, give yourself some time,” Crowley replied, rising from his neck to look directly at him, eyes so warm, warm, warm— “You don’t drop millennia of— Of what Heaven did to you in one year.”

“…No, I suppose not,” Aziraphale conceded, feeling his chest constricted. Only Crowley would be so— Understanding, in spite of it all.

Crowley smiled, fingers stroking Aziraphale’s chin, and when he gently pulled Aziraphale let himself go, closing his eyes as Crowley’s mouth found his.

—

“Your wardzz are actually good,” was what Beelzebub said, clearly begrudgingly, when a speechless Aziraphale struggled the dusty shop window open.

“Yeah, well— That’s the whole point,” he replied, breathless. “I, um—“

“I have questionz,” Beelzebub cut in, annoyed. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure if they were annoyed at him, or themselves.

“…I guess we could meet at Crowley’s flat, if he—“

“No! I don’t want that bloody znake around! He’d keep hovering over you, playing the protector, and we won’t get anything done!”

“You know, that’s— Not a convincing argument in your favour,” Aziraphale replied very, very slowly, still leaning outside the window. People were starting to stare, but at least Beelzebub had bothered dressing like a human, if a slightly shabby one. “You want to be— Alone. No protection—“

Beelzebub rolled their eyes with a loud sigh. “You don’t need hiz protection. I’m not an idiot, featherz, I know how strong you really are.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth. He wanted to laugh hysterically, just a bit. There was a tiny Crowley in the back of his head who was downright outraged at the idea Aziraphale didn’t actually need his help—

Beelzebub was still looking up at him, still looking annoyed. They were fidgeting, a foot impatiently tapping the pavement.

“…Give me a minute,” he finally said, slowly. He retreated in, closing the window, as the tiny Crowley in the back of his head screamed at him that ‘_no, Angel, this is a terrible idea, what are you doing?! Please, just call me, I—‘_

“Shush, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, not particularly concerned about the fact he was talking to a tiny version of his partner that lived somewhere in his head. “I’ll be careful.”

He grabbed the mobile phone Crowley had put in his hand forcefully and taught him how to use six months prior, flipped the sign on the door on ‘closed’, and went out.

—

The walk to the first café Aziraphale could find outside of Soho (he knew it was illogical, but Soho was _his_. He felt like this— Talk had to happen on more neutral grounds) had been awkward and tense. Squeezing in the one free booth and then staring at one another, even more so.

“Um, so,” Aziraphale said after what felt like an eternity, when it was clear Beelzebub -who was scowling, although Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was a scowl meant for him or just their resting face- would not speak first. “How— How can I help you?”

He immediately winced at his own choice of words. He was fairly sure no Demon would ever take kindly being offered help by an Angel, even one as disgraced as Aziraphale— Apart from Crowley, of course, but Crowley had always been an outlier.

Beelzebub opened their mouth, seemingly ready to speak, but the chipper young woman who walked up to the side of their table interjected, blessedly unaware.

“Can I take your orders?”

“Ah, I— I’ll have a hot cocoa and, um,” Aziraphale glanced at Beelzebub, indecisive. Maybe they could try another tea, that should be mild enough. “My— Friend—“

“I’ll take an esprezzo,” Beelzebub interjected, flat, and the waiter was kind enough not to comment on the excessive zs, jotting down their orders.

“I’ll be right back!” she declared cheerfully, and the silence returned like a physical presence.

Aziraphale nervously fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat, and finally asked “An espresso?” at the same time as Beelzebub said, tilting an eyebrow “_Friend_?”

They blinked at each other, and Aziraphale cleared his throat after releasing a small, tense chuckle.

“Just— Manner of speaking. It would confuse humans to see two people consuming a beverage together when they are supposedly enemies.”

Beelzebub grunted, drumming their fingers on the cheap wooden table.

“I don’t mind the coffee,” they then declared, and Aziraphale wisely decided not to ask _when_ they even tried coffee.

He was also getting the distinct impression that saying ‘I don’t mind’ was Beelzebub’s way to say ‘I really like’.

“Alright so— Ah, we established that, I guess,” he muttered, shifting in his seat a bit. “So— What did you wish to ask?”

He tried, and succeeded with no small amount of pride, to sustain Beelzebub’s pointed gaze. They did not say anything until both orders arrived, and Aziraphale wasn’t surprised when Beelzebub picked up their small cup and drank the espresso unsweetened, while he added four sugar cubes to his cocoa ( he felt like he was going to need it ).

He expected— He wasn’t quite sure what he expected. If he had to be honest, he expected the prince of Hell to try grill him about how both he and Crowley avoided their death sentences. It seemed the most logical option.

What he _hoped_, though, was something different.

“Why do you like thiz place so much?” Beelzebub finally asked, surprising him. Aziraphale airily stirred his own drink, looking around.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this café, before, actually.”

“Wha— The world! I mean thiz blasted planet!”

“Oh, right. Well, huh—“ He shook the spoon on the rim of the cup with soft dings. “It’s— I could tell you that I— I love humanity, and I love their ingenuity. I love their creativity, their ability to change— And I could tell you that I even love how chaotic they can be, a bit, but would that make sense to you?”

He spoke quietly, looking back at Beelzebub, whose frown deepened as he spoke.

“…I can’t say it doez, no,” Beelzebub replied after a beat, just as quiet. Aziraphale smiled a sad smile.

“I don’t think I can answer that question, not— Not in a way you could understand. And,” he hesitated for a second, voice going even lower. “Mind, it’s a generic ‘you’. All— All of you, above and below, have never bothered to really experience life on Earth. This is an understanding that can only come from within, by _being here_. I’m afraid nothing I could say would make any sense, without that sort of first-hand experience.”

He took a methodical sip of his cocoa. The sweetness was almost overbearing, but he didn’t mind. He needed to have something grounding him, considering the completely absurd situation he willingly walked himself into—

“Show me, then.”

—Which was apparently turning more absurd by the second. Aziraphale spluttered and coughed loudly, the mug thumping loudly on the table when he put it down.

“ ’scuse me?!”

“Show me what’z so— Special, about thiz place,” Beelzebub repeated, flat. Aziraphale gaped, nervously dabbing his chin.

“I— I don’t—“

Beelzebub tilted an eyebrow. “What? Waz that heartfelt little speech all bark and no bite, then?”

“No! No, I meant it, I just—“ he gaped again, eyebrows knitted, before adding. “…Why me?”

Beelzebub inhaled through their nose, loudly, closing their eyes.

“…I can’t ask that bloody znake, he’d never want to. And, has you said, no one other than you two ever zpent time here. My optionz are limited, featherz.”

It— Made sense, Aziraphale had to admit. If Beelzebub really wished to understand humanity more… Of course they couldn’t ask Crowley, Crowley would probably laugh right in their face and maybe add a rude gesture. And yes, it was true that no other Demon nor Angel could really be a guide about life on Earth, but—

Aziraphale couldn’t shoo away the thought that maybe there was more to this. What that ‘more’ really entailed, he wasn’t sure.

“…You have to understand,” Aziraphale finally said after long seconds of silence, when Beelzebub’s eyebrows rose on their forehead a bit more. “You— Both sides tried to have Crowley and I killed just barely more than a year ago.”

“…I’m aware,” Beelzebub replied, very quietly, not a hint of sarcasm in their voice.

“So you surely understand I might be a bit— Skeptical, about this.”

“…Yes.”

“And you still came to me, to ask?”

“Do I have to anzwer rhetorical questionz?”

Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I will have to tell Crowley—“

Beelzebub released a noise halfway between a growl and a groan.

“I will have to tell him. I will not keep things hidden from him,” Aziraphale insisted, firm. “He’s my— My partner. We don’t lie to each other, not anymore.”

“That’s not negotiable, I zuppoze,” Beelzebub sighed, arms crossed. “What about him, anyway?”

“About what?”

“Crowley. What’z so special about him? Iz he a good fuck? Never looked like the type—“

Aziraphale felt himself blush furiously, and was very thankful he hesitated to take the sip of cocoa he wanted to take. “That’s not— We are not— It’s not just a matter of… Of physical pleasure. He’s— I love him, and he loves me.”

“That’z not pozzible,” Beelzebub replied, lighting quick. Aziraphale huffed a small laugh.

“It very much is, I assure you.”

“No,” Beelzebub snapped. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of a particularly stubborn child who refused to accept the fact that two plus two equaled four. “Demonz don’t _love_. And Angels certainly can’t love Demonz—“

“And yet, I’m sitting right in front of you, whereas I should have long turned dust into the wind. Why is that, in your opinion, dear?”

Beelzebub launched him a scathing look, if slightly disarmed, probably by that ‘dear’. Aziraphale didn’t bother to explain that was just how he spoke.

“…That’s ridiculous,” Beelzebub finally conceded in a plaintive mutter. “Fine. Tell him. And then what? Do you need hiz permission for every step you take?”

Aziraphale smiled into his mug, as he finally conceded himself a generous sip of cocoa that had just reached the perfect temperature.

“Nice try, but I won’t bite,” he replied, amused, causing the grumpy scowl on Beelzebub’s face to deepen. “For something like this? Yes, I have all intentions to discuss our options, before going forward with— What is it exactly you want of me, anyway? To give Earth lessons?”

“It’s not that deep, featherz, I just want to understand why you two care so much about theze lower life formz.”

“It might be deeper than you think,” Aziraphale replied, mild, letting the ‘lower life forms’ comment slide. “Let’s start with this— Can I ask how you found out you like espresso?”

Funnily enough, Beelzebub squirmed in their seat. “Came up here ‘while ago, thought I’d try. Thiz zmelled nice, so I tried.”

“…And?”

“And then the humanz got mad at me, and I had to run away from the— Police, I think it’s called.”

Aziraphale groaned and laughed at the same time, sounding slightly like a choking pigeon, as he leaned in the deposit his forehead against one of his palms.

“I don’t get what I did wrong!” Beelzebub snapped.

“_How_ exactly did you got your espresso?”

“I azked like we did here—“

“And then?”

“And then what?”

“…You didn’t pay for it, did you.”

“…”

“Alright, lesson number one. Consider it a free one,” Aziraphale said, amusedly exasperated. He fished his wallet from his coat, under Beelzebub’s curious gaze, sliding a couple of bills out of it. “This is money. Currency used by mortals to exchange goods and services. They use the pound, here, although there are a variety of currencies all around the world— But that’s not important, for now. The point is, you can’t just— Take whatever you want without something in exchange. What you did was stealing, of course they called the police.”

“You do realize I’m a Demon, right,” Beelzebub asked, flat. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I am aware. But if you want to understand Earth, if you want to understand humanity, you have to think like them. They don’t play by the same rules you and I do— Beelzebub.“

The hesitation Aziraphale stumbled into hadn’t been missed, going by the small look he received. Still, Beelzebub didn’t comment, arms still crossed.

“I don’t get it,” they mumbled. “Zeemz needlessly complicated.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I said it might be deeper than you think,” Aziraphale trailed off into silence, as he finished his cocoa, scraping at the bits stuck on the bottom of the mug with the spoon, distracted. He belatedly realized he didn’t feel nearly as tense as he had when they first sat down, and stole a quick glance.

Beelzebub hadn’t changed position, but they were forlornly staring into their empty cup, clearly pensive.

“Fine. Zpeak with Crowley, and when you decide what to do, he’ll know how to contact me,” they said after a long silence, disentangling their arms. They sneaked out the booth, and then pursed their mouth. “I don’t have any— Currency.”

“…My treat,” Aziraphale said quietly, putting down the bill he first took out the wallet. Beelzebub blinked. “As I said, consider it a free one. If there’s going to be a next lesson, it’ll be on you.”

—

“Absolutely not,” were the first words coming out of Crowley’s mouth the second Aziraphale told him what happened and what Beelzebub’s request was. Aziraphale expected that. As he expected the rant that followed soon after, and so he quietly sat while Crowley paced in front of the couch. Back and forth, back and forth, like a spring toy that did not need to obey the laws of physics.

“…Can’t believe you’d be so _stupid_!” Crowley was currently saying, throwing both arms out dramatically. “What were you thinking?! It could’ve gone _so_ wrong. Beezy could’ve dragged you to Hell. Or just straight up attacked you… It could’ve been a trap, Aziraphale, what were you _thinking_?”

“But it wasn’t a trap,” Aziraphale replied, trying not to let the annoyance slip in his voice. “It wasn’t. And they didn’t attack me, nor they dragged me to Hell. I’m sitting right here in front of you, safe and sound.”

“Yes, you are,” Crowley replied, turning to face him and putting both hands on his hips. He sounded very much like nanny Ashtoreth used to sound when telling young Warlock that, yes, trying to drive his dad’s car was surely going to be very fun, but that future rulers of the world also needed to wait their eighteenth birthday before even thinking about driving, lest they ended up wrapping the obnoxiously american pickup around a tree. “But you might’ve _not_ been. That was idiotic, Aziraphale, I can’t believe—“

“Listen, I just… Had a gut feeling. I knew they weren’t there to harm me. Can’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Crowley sighed, deflating slightly. “I do, Aziraphale, but… I don’t think gut feeling is enough of a good reason to go along with the request of someone who would’ve gladly had us both killed not that long ago.”

“Well, I trust my gut,” Aziraphale replied, stubbornly. “It’s what led to me to speaking with you in the first place— I don’t see you complaining about that.”

Crowley’s lips thinned. “That was different.”

“How? You were a Demon, and you approached me, started a conversation. Exactly what Beelzebub did. How was it any different?”

Crowley released a series of inarticulate noises, throwing his arms around in frustration.

“I wasn’t there to harm you! I just thought it’d be nice to have a chat—“

“And neither was Beelzebub. Crowley, listen, you… You’ve always been different from other Demons, that is undeniable,” Aziraphale continued, patient. “But… How do we know others can’t also act differently, given a chance? You told me most just follow orders because it’s easy, and you broke out the mold because you preferred to be your own individual… How do we know the same won’t happen to other Demons? Or Angels, for that matter?”

Crowley groaned, clearly frustrated, but finally sat down by Aziraphale’s side.

“That is the problem with you,” he then snapped, something strangely fragile in the depths of his voice. “Aziraphale, you don’t… You don’t understand how unique you are in this regard.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but Crowley trudged on, “Do you know how many Angels other than you would’ve spoken to me, back then? Zero. Zilch._Nada_. Any other Angel would’ve smote me on the spot the second I crawled by their side, but you didn’t. You… You _are_ soft, Aziraphale, that is what makes you wonderfully _you_… But is also your greatest weakness.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth. Then closed it. At a loss, he just said “Crowley…”

Crowley smiled a small, mirthless, melancholic smile. “You always want to see the best in everyone, no matter how harsh things can get, and I love you for that. But I’m afraid that is exactly what either side will try to exploit. How do we know this isn’t a plan orchestrated to lower your guard?”

“We can’t know that,” Aziraphale replied, voice low. “All we can do is trust. Who knows, it may even be—“

“If you say ‘ineffable’ you’re going to sleep on the couch for the next week.”

“I don’t sleep.”

“I know you don’t— _Argh_!” Crowley rose back on his feet, dragging both hands through his hair. “You’re so infuriating!”

Aziraphale smiled, but promptly flattened his mouth to hide it when Crowley turned to glare at him.

“I’m not asking you to just… Stay put while I take care of this, and I would never ask you that,” Aziraphale said, softly. “I’m just asking you to give it some thought and consideration. It may lead to nothing, but it also may lead to a better future for both of us.”

“How so?” Crowley asked, sounding weary. Tired.

“Think about it. If we manage to convince the _prince of Hell_ that Earth is worth keeping, they may convince others. And if one side gives up on the war, couldn’t the other follow suit? For all we know, this could be the key to end all this Angels versus Demons nonsense.”

“You’re so optimistic…” Crowley sighed deeply, shaking his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine. I’ll… I’ll think about it. But _if_ I decide to let you proceed with this— Insane pet project I’m _not_ going to be leaving you alone with Beelzebub. Let’s make that clear right away.”

“I’ve never dreamed of asking you to, dear,” Aziraphale replied, smiling an already half-victorious smile as he squeezed Crowley’s other hand gently. Crowley replied with the unamused look of those who knew they were already on the road to losing.

—

It was very, very difficult, but Aziraphale managed not to wring his hands in front of his chest as he desperately wished to. He limited himself to adjusting his bow tie and waistcoat, trying to breathe through the thick tension in the air.

“So… Shall we begin?” he then asked, wincing when his voice came out a bit higher than he wanted it to.

“Is his presence really necezzary?” Beelzebub asked, glaring at Crowley. Crowley was wearing his sunglasses, but it wasn’t hard to imagine he must be glaring back just as fervently.

“Yes,” he said, voice ice-like. Beelzebub’s mouth thinned.

“Fine,” they then snapped, clearly knowing when a battle was lost. “I only have one queztion.”

Crowley said nothing, a muscle under his left eye twitching.

“Do you love thiz Angel?”

“Yes,” Crowley said again, not even sparing a single second of hesitation. Beelzebub looked at him with an unreadable expression, but did not reply.

Aziraphale was torn between feeling deeply touched at the unshaken, absolute lack of hesitation Crowley showed in admitting he loved Aziraphale, and gratefulness for Beelzebub not saying anything about the concept being ridiculous and possibly devolve the afternoon in a bickering session.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I suppose we have established that… Let us get going, then, shall we?”

Beelzebub’s mouth was still a thin line, but they looked around. “What are we zuppozed to do?”

“I thought we’d start with something simple,” Aziraphale said, a little more chipper as he took the lead and crossed the main entrance to St. James Park, which they’ve been standing in front of, causing multiple annoyed looks to be launched in their direction. “The city can get a bit overwhelming at times…”

“I can take whatever you’ll feel like throwing at me, featherz,” Beelzebub snapped as they followed, sounding affronted. Aziraphale let out a tiny laugh.

“Oh, the city would’ve rather been overwhelming for _me_. There’s so much to explain about humanity!” Beelzebub closed their mouth with a loud snap, and Aziraphale continued, smiling to himself as he went ahead. “The place we are in currently is a park. Parks are especially appreciated in big cities because it allows humans to feel a bit more in touch with nature, and it is a place where they come to meet one another, to relax and spend some leisure time. How… How do you spend your free time, Beelzebub?” Aziraphale asked, turning around just slightly. Beelzebub blinked at him blankly.

“We don’t have free time.”

Aziraphale stopped dead, almost causing them to bump into him.

“What could you mean? You are a prince,” Aziraphale said, frowning slightly. “You pretty much have the entirety of Hell at your service, how couldn’t you—“

Crowley let out a brief, sarcastic laugh, breaking the impression he was giving of a quiet, particularly frown-y shadow.

“Bee’s a control freak. And Hell is possibly even worse than Heaven when it comes to useless, time-wasting bureaucracy. Free time isn’t even in the books, Angel.”

“I am _not_ a control freak!” Beelzebub snapped, gaze darkening. “It izn’t my fault I’m surrounded by incompetent idiotz—“

“Please,” Aziraphale interjected tiredly, launching a _look_ at Crowley. Crowley replied with a shrug and tilted eyebrows. “Let’s not waste time, I was merely asking a question. So you don’t… Have free time. Maybe you should make some for yourself?” Aziraphale suggested kindly. “It surely must be stressful, only thinking about your job— It is quite nice, having some time for oneself.”

“Iz that how you two go to— this?” Beelzebub asked, making a vague gesture in their direction. “Having _free time_?”

“Well… Yes, I suppose that is not entirely incorrect,” Aziraphale conceded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “We took care of our respective jobs, of course, but once that was done there was quite… A lot of empty time. We just so happened to be filling it with the experiences humanity had to offer.”

Beelzebub stared at him. Then turned to look around, seemingly examining the people coming by. There were couples walking hand in hand, families with prams and laughing children chasing each other. There were old ladies launching crumbs at the pigeons and teenagers loudly laughing about this or that. It was something familiar, for Aziraphale, but Beelzebub looked suddenly off center.

“…I’m wazting my time,” they said, flat. Aziraphale blinked, alarmed.

“Wha— No, you don’t— We just started” he cried, confused. Beelzebub launched another look at him, impossible to read, and then disappeared with a pop.

Aziraphale looked at the empty spot, shoulders sagging.

“…You gave it a shot,” Crowley murmured, soft, none of the smug ‘I told you so’ he promised in the past few days, as he repeated multiple times that Beelzebub wouldn’t last the day, to be heard. He gently rubbed Aziraphale’s upper arm. “You tried, Angel, it’s not your fault.”

“…I suppose,” Aziraphale whispered back, hugging himself. Long seconds passed, and then Crowley’s arm snuck around his shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s go get some ice cream, mh?” he proposed, guiding Aziraphale away.

—

_“You really like that one, huh?”_

_“I feel the urge to bite down on it. But I don’t know why! That is rather strange, isn’t it?”_

_Hanael laughed. Aziraphale always thought his friend had a very nice laugh, that seemed to start from their belly and gain in volume as it rose toward their mouth._

_“Bite down on it, goodness!” Hanael then said, hiccupping around another little laugh. “How do you even come up with these ideas, Aziraphale?”_

_Aziraphale looked down at the little creature on his hand with a smile, knowing Hanael’s question wasn’t meant to tease him. The creature was a jewel caterpillar, Hanael had said, dropping it in his palm. It was a curious but beautiful little thing, with a semi-transparent body that reminded Aziraphale of some of the fruits that would come out of the plants and trees that were currently being perfected to be put in the Garden._

_“I’m not quite sure it just… Looks like it’d have a funny texture.”_

_“Mmmmh, I suppose you have a point,” Hanael replied, dropping heavily by Aziraphale’s side. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you around in ages—“_

_Aziraphale’s smile slid off his face, and he kept looking down at the caterpillar, crestfallen._

_“I’ve got a new duty,” he said, trying to force cheer in his voice. “While— While I wait for the role I cannot fulfil yet. I’ve got a sword from the Almighty and all! And the Archangel Gabriel is personally overseeing my training—“_

_Hanael groaned loudly, surprising Aziraphale into silence._

_Although— If he had to be honest, he wasn’t surprised at all. He knew that, of all Angels, Hanael might be the only one who truly understood—_

_“You, with a s sword! And training with Gabriel?” Hanael lamented, falling belly up on the lawn. Their wings (feathers a shade of teal like their eyes, with a strip of a darker colour on the tips) stretched open on the grass. “Geez. You’d think someone was trying to punish you!”_

_Aziraphale said nothing, as the caterpillar went about exploring his palm._

_He missed the afternoons he’d spend while Hanael enthusiastically spoke to him about bugs. He might not understand much about them, but the way the little creatures were going to go about their lives were so ingenious, and he loved how passionate Hanael was._

_“It’s an honor,” he said, weakly. “The Almighty gave me the sword Herself.”_

_“Still,” Hanael huffed, clearly sour. “You’re not the sword type, no offence—“_

_“None taken.”_

_“Why even put you on another job, when you were already lined up for one that sounded far more suited for you? Makes you think,” they continued, voice lowering. “Aziraphale… Why don’t you come with me at the next reunion?”_

_Silence stretched. Aziraphale knew this would come, but it didn’t make the impact any easier to take._

_“Maybe next time,” he said, so very softly, something tremulous in his voice. Hanael sprung back up in a seating position, fixing him with a stern look._

_“You say that every time,” they reproached. Aziraphale flinched._

_“I’m just… Don’t take this wrongly, please, Hanael,” Aziraphale muttered, tugging at the collar of his tunic nervously. “I’m glad you’ve found a group of friends, but I— I don’t think I’d fit in.”_

_“Of course you’d fit in! Why wouldn’t you? You are brilliant! Lucifer would love to have you with us!”_

_Aziraphale smiled weakly. For how heartening Hanael’s words were, he simply could not shake the disquiet he felt whenever the Morningsstar was mentioned._

_Lucifer was powerful, clever, charismatic and absolutely _ ** _terrifying_ ** _. His voice carried so much that not even the best of angelic choir could match him in volume. It was like his words echoed in you whenever he spoke, and Aziraphale…_

_He had tried to listen in from afar, once, after the third time Hanael tried to invite him to these reunions. A constantly widening group of Angels, meeting to speak with Lucifer, listen to what he had to say, ask his same questions. He had tried to listen in, and Lucifer’s voice had echoed in Aziraphale, had made him feel like he should just… Step forward, mix in the group, follow._

_Obey orders._

_That had scared him something fierce. Aziraphale knew there was only one individual which orders he wished to follow. God’s, and no one else’s._

_He had turned, then, and fled. He never, ever wanted to be listening to Lucifer again, unless it was strictly necessary._

_He wasn’t quite sure how to express this sentiment to Hanael without offending them, though. He was perfectly aware of how much Hanael admired Lucifer, and it was… Flattering, in a way, that Hanael thought Aziraphale would be welcomed, that Lucifer would want, of all Angels, Aziraphale specifically to join the ever growing clique. _

_He looked up, meeting Hanael’s little frown. Their teal eyes appeared darker, perturbed._

_“I’m just… Not sure if it’s… The right thing to do,” Aziraphale muttered, eyes sliding away._

_“Right thing to do? I don’t think it’s a matter of being right. You are allowed to speak with your fellow Angels, Aziraphale.”_

_“It’s not that, Hanael, I—“_

_“What it is, then? I’ve asked you so many times!” Hanael snapped, clearly impatient. Their voice lowered, as they added. “Maybe you think Gabriel is right? Do you think yourself above Lucifer? Do you also think asking for some clarification is a waste of time?”_

_Aziraphale looked back at them, frowning worriedly._

_“Goodness, no! I’m not— I don’t— Of course I don’t think myself above anyone, Hanael, how could I?”_

_“Well, one wonders,” Hanael replied, flat. They suddenly snapped their wings close, rising on their feet. “The way you act certainly suggests something different. If you ever feel like gracing us with your presence, you know where to find us.”_

_Aziraphale watched, dismayed, as Hanael walked away with a clearly irked gait. He kept watching until they disappeared through the green, and then looked down. The caterpillar was still moving about, as if in search of something between Aziraphale’s fingers. He got up, gingerly deposited the little creature on a leaf, watched it immediately starting to bite down, leaving tiny half moons on the edge of the leaf._

_“How could I possibly think myself above anyone else, when I don’t even have a real role and only one friend?” he asked, so faint his words got lost to the breeze._

—

“Fuck _me_. You cannot be serious.”

Beelzebub jumped and turned, a guilty expression rapidly hidden under a glare. Crowley frowned back, dismayed.

There were long seconds of awkward staring at each other, before Crowley sighed deeply.

“What are you doing here?”

“Izn’t that obvious?” Beelzebub replied, grumpily. “I thought I had a deal with you and your Angel.”

“You had, until you ran off not even ten minutes into the first attempt,” Crowley replied, crossing his arms. “And now you are lurking around his bookshop, because…?”

“I never zaid the deal was off!”

“It was sort of implied,” Crowley groaned, exasperated. “Why are you _here_, Beelzebub? Hoping to catch him alone? Hoping to lure him into a trap?”

The glare he was receiving back intensified. “Unlike you, I’m not for low scheming and little gamez. I keep my wordz.”

“Oh, suddenly all honourable, aren’t you?” Crowley sarcastically replied, with a little mocking bowing on top. “Do forgive me, my lord, I almost forgot you tried to _murder_ me after a farce trial, in front of the entirety of Hell. How could I have doubted you.”

“That haz nothing to do with—“

“It has _everything_ to do with you buzzing around Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, baring his teeth as he closed the distance between them. “Let me make this very, very clear, Bee. I don’t trust you. I never did, I never will. Aziraphale is too gentle and permissive, always wants to give everyone a second chance, but me? Not so kind.”

Beelzebub opened their mouth. Crowley held a hand up.

“I’m going in, and I’ll tell him you are out here. If he decides to forgive you and try a second time, well, good for you. But I will be there. I will watch. You’ve hurt him already, that was strike one, and I’m not going to let the count get to three. Next one, I’m kicking you back into Hell myself, am I _clear_?”

Beelzebub said nothing, merely glared back at him. Crowley took it for the acknowledgment it was, gave a tight lipped, curt nod back, and sauntered in the bookshop.

He did not hear the little, confused “What iz a _strike_?” Beelzebub uttered.

—

Much to Crowley’s tired, dismayed acceptance, a second chance was given.

Aziraphale was much more careful, this time around. Decided to mostly keep silent as they walked through the city, introducing briefly this or that concept about humanity whenever Beelzebub seemed to be the most confused, and answered when asked a direct question. By the time Beelzebub seemed to become more fidgety they had managed to spend a whole hour with no bolting, which Aziraphale decided to count as a timid success.

Somehow, a routine was set. Beelzebub would appear out of the bookshop every now and then, sullenly standing there until they were noticed, or throwing tiny pieces of tarmac at the window whenever they were particularly impatient. Crowley would be called dutifully in the case he hadn’t already be there, and then they’d take off.

The trick, Aziraphale found out, was to lead toward things that seemed to interest Beelzebub in the first place. Dumping info on their heads was a sure way to scare them off, but allowing them to observe and grow a curiosity of their own was what held them down. It was easier to start from something small, explain in simple ways, and then fan out from there to plunge in the multiple facets of humanity. Beelzebub tried different types of coffee, decided they liked it black better. They listened to some music and seemingly grew a liking to dub-step (Crowley was promptly prohibited to ever comment about that, although he’d save no words when ranting about Beelzebub’s awful tastes away from their ears). They did not like sushi much, but didn’t mind a juicy rare steak. To the surprise of both Crowley and Aziraphale, they seemed to like extremely sweet cocktails.

They walked all through London, spent a lot of time in the tube (Beelzebub seemed to like that, as well. Crowley snidely commented under his breath about flies and humid, stinky places). They stopped at historical significant sites, and Beelzebub seemed _almost_ amused whenever Crowley and Aziraphale got a bit lost in bantering.

“…No, no, that was 1732, I’m sure.”

“Angel, you were too busy stuffing your face, clearly. It was 1734.”

“Excuse _me_, I’d remember a two year gap when—“

“Would you? You didn’t even notice the guillotines as you strolled through Paris in the middle of the bloody French revolution!”

“Sure, bring up the one time I was just a tad distracted—“

“One time, huh?”

They probably weren’t very effective history teachers, but at the very least they managed to convey _something_.

They spoke of humanity’s dichotomy, the inherent potential of being extremely holy or extremely wicked contained in all humans’ souls. Beelzebub would listen on, an unreadable expression on their faces, while Aziraphale and Crowley went on and on through topics they’ve dwelled deeply in the past. In a way, it was almost reminiscent of the eleven years they spent trying to keep the scales balanced in the soul of the not-Antichrist, except this time around it was mostly an attempt to show a prince of Hell all humanity had to offer, and hope something would stick in there.

Months went by like that, and Aziraphale had no idea what to expect. Beelzebub’s expression was always impenetrable, the only sign they might be interested in something a vague glint in their eyes that came and went as fast as a lighting bolt. Aziraphale wanted to be optimistic, after all Beelzebub _was_ coming back for more even after those times they stormed off, irritated or overwhelmed or a mix of the two. But he was also starting to doubt this might’ve been a good idea.

A small part of him was getting suspicious, starting to wonder more and more if this wasn’t, in fact, a plan to make Aziraphale lower his guard, make him betray himself in a way, as Crowley protested in the beginning. If only Beelzebub would give even the tiniest hint of what they were thinking…

And yes, there was the fact that another part of him, which had started timidly hoping from the start, was now hoping louder. Wishing for any sign of recognition, even just a tiny look or gesture, _anything_ that pointed toward the fact Beelzebub might remember him. That there might be something to salvage, in there.

But Aziraphale liked to pretend that part did not exist, quieting it into the darkest corners of his mind.

—

He might’ve been just a tad grouchy, that day. Crowley wasn’t answering either of his phones, Beelzebub was frowning at him through the window while impatiently tapping their foot on the sidewalk, and Aziraphale just did not feel in the mood to be dealing with any of that.

He put the receiver down with a sigh, and struggled the window open.

“I’m afraid this might not be a good day,” he said, voice coming out more tired that he wished. “Crowley isn’t answering—“

“I know,” Beelzebub replied, rolling their eyes. Aziraphale let out a little, scandalized gasp.

“_What did you do to him_?!” he hissed, with half a mind to climb out the window and possibly set on fire the sharpest object he had at hand. “If you laid a single finger on him, the Almighty be my testimony, I’ll—“

“Save me the theatricz, featherz!” Beelzebub interjected with a bark. “I haven’t done a thing to your little znake. When I noticed he wasn’t here I went to fetch him, so we could ztop wasting our time, and I found him _sleeping_.”

Aziraphale blinked. He felt there was hardly any reason to believe Beelzebub might be lying, not when they sounded so earnestly annoyed.

“Sleeping?”

“Like a rock,” Beelzebub rolled their eyes again. “When I tried to wake him up he just mumbled, rolled over and started znoring again.”

That… Sounded very much a Crowley thing to do. Aziraphale groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well… Well, I suppose there’s nothing to do for it. You can come back another day—“

“Another day?!” Beelzebub snapped, incensed. “Easy to zay, for you! You two are up here, not a worry, all the bloody _free time_ in the world, but guezz what! Not all of us have thiz luxury! Do you have any idea of the hoops I’ve been jumping through in order to come up here?!”

Aziraphale frowned back. He just… Just wanted to close the window, fix himself an extra strong cup of cocoa and lose himself in a book. Just wanted to stop mulling things over so much—

Beelzebub looked back, a twits to their eyebrow Aziraphale had never seen before. It wasn’t quite concern, nor pleading. It was— It was impossible to read, as usual.

“…Is it really so difficult for you, coming up here?”

“No one knowz what I’m doing,” Beelzebub mumbled back, crossing their arms even tighter. “Do you think I go around in Hell parading the fact I’m… _Hanging out _with the two traitorz who ruined judgment day? Satan would have my head on a bloody pike, if he knew.”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut.

“I… Just give me a minute,” he replied, vaguely faint. Beelzebub launched him a look that almost seemed to say ‘thank you’.

—

“What’s thiz?”

“A museum,” Aziraphale explained as they got in line to enter the British Museum. “We’ve told you how humans like to collect and keep artefacts from their past. A museum is a place where they conserve these artefacts and keep them on display for the public. There are various types of museum, some collect art, some are focused on sciences—“

“Yeah, I remember,” Beelzebub replied, glaring back at the kid who was gawking at them. Aziraphale waved his hand distractedly, and suddenly the mortals around them couldn’t ear him explaining the concept of museums to who appeared to be a grown -if short- adult anymore. “I juzt… Don’t get it.”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” Aziraphale commented airily, shuffling forward as the line moved. “Remember that knife you came to collect some months ago?”

“How couldn’t I,” was the reply, given with a vaguely curled nose. Aziraphale held in a small smile.

“That was a valuable item, right? Lucifer wanted to keep it, make sure it’s safe in his… Armoury? Collection? Whatever it is. It’s basically the same idea— And you have to remember humans live fleeting lives, compared to us. They are born and gone in a handful of decades. So they consider very important the preservation of history and art. They cannot remember the past by direct experience, but they can still understand and learn from it due to the preservation of it.”

“Oh,” Beelzebub replied, understanding seemingly clicking in their eyes. “I zee. This way even if they couldn’t possibly recall their ancestry, they ztill can understand where they came from. Ingeniouz.”

“Exactly,” Aziraphale convened, hiding a small smile at the compliment that escaped from Beelzebub’s mouth.

They fell back into silence as they waited a handful of minutes more before entering, as they walked through the halls, between statues and ancient objects once used by humans, now sitting behind glass panes. They walked by walls full of paintings, by people observing and chitchatting, only the indefinite white noise of humans speaking to one another keeping them company.

Aziraphale felt no need to stop and explain. It was clear that their walk was enough, with Beelzebub constantly swivelling their head to take in all that surrounded them. It was a good choice going to the museum in this particular occasion, Aziraphale privately thought. There was enough to keep Beelzebub’s attention, and Crowley would’ve probably been bored out of his mind. After all, both of them already knew those halls down to the single specks of dust.

Except… Except his heart sunk, when they stepped over into the big room hosting the entomology collection. Aziraphale hadn’t thought about the implications, not really, and he stopped, something painful tugging at his chest as Beelzebub surpassed him, still looking around. They seemed to notice Aziraphale was lagging behind only when they got to the center of the room, surrounded by glass cases showing so many different species of bugs pinned and labelled.

They tilted an eyebrow. Aziraphale worked his throat, moving forward.

“Why do humanz keep animals like… This?” Beelzebub asked once Aziraphale hesitantly stepped by their side. They both looked down at the shiny beetles, showcased from the tiniest to the biggest species that existed on the planet. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s… A way for them to observe non-human creatures from up close without necessarily having to disturb the ones living in the wild,” he explained with a small shrug, latching his hands behind his back. “This way they can study various species of bugs, learn the differences between them, the way they live in diverse environments…”

“But… Bugz are just… Bugz, aren’t they? What could possibly be the difference?”

Aziraphale was surprised Beelzebub seemed to have no reaction, because he was pretty sure his heart was crushed, loudly.

He remembered an Angel, teal eyes and teal wings, animatedly speaking about all the little differences between their creations. He remembered how they’d get lost in long-winded explanations, the way they glanced at Aziraphale when noticing they’ve been speaking for almost twenty minutes without pause. He remembered the way they’d smile when Aziraphale would only nod an invite to go on, wonder in his gaze as he took it all in.

Whatever last fragment of hope was left in Aziraphale turned to dust, and was blown away to the wind. When he managed to speak again his voice was only slightly hoarse.

“Well, yes, but— Not quite. All animals… Bugs, mammals, birds and sea creatures… Can be very different. Can have different ways to adapt to their environment, different ways to feed themselves and continue their line. Just… Very different ways of survival. It’s not quite so simple.”

“Yeah, nothing iz has simple as we all thought, on thiz planet, isn’t it?” Beelzebub replied, sounding strangely thoughtful. Aziraphale gave a weak smile, not quite managing to turn and face them.

“Indeed.”

“Can you— Tell me? Theze differences?”

_What the hell, might as well_, Aziraphale thought, tired acceptance weighing on him like a heavy blanket. He distractedly traced the edge of the glass case with his fingers, recalled all he once learned from the very individual at his side a long, long time ago, and started talking.

It was hard not to get lost in all of it. He still remembered so much, relaying it all back as they moved from case to case, down the sprawling collection. Not once he was interrupted, and he felt plunged in dream-like sensation, almost mechanically going through the explanations. Part of him distantly noticed the occasional human who stopped to also listen in curiously, those in passing who commented that he must be an entomology professor… Crowley would’ve probably found it hysterical.

Aziraphale certainly felt slightly hysterical himself as he finally reached the bottom of his well of knowledge regarding bugs. They were at the very end of the cases dedicated to butterflies, their colourful wings unfocused in his sight. He turned away, not quite sure if he wanted to glance at Beelzebub, and noticed a video being projected on the one empty wall by their side.

It was quite nice, probably meant to recreate the feeling of standing in a meadow, surrounded by butterflies fluttering about. He stepped closer, catching his breath, trying to quiet the restless anxiety in the bottom of his belly.

He knew. He should’ve known from the start. It was obvious that Beelzebub didn’t remember.

He had been stupid to even hope in the first place.

There was something firmly lodged in his throat, and a sudden, almost suffocating need to have Crowley by his side. He just wanted to rest in Crowley’s familiar, safe arms, let himself plunge in the comfort of Crowley’s endless affection, and stop thinking for fleeting, glorious minutes.

And then… Then, when he was just about to turn and gather whatever ounce of strength was left in him to declare they’ve seen enough and it was probably time to go home, Aziraphale found himself roughly grabbed by the lapels of his coat and slammed against the wall. Out of the corner of his eyes one of the museum’s staff stopped in the act of extending a hand toward them, mouth open and frozen, probably ready to ask what the hell was going on. All the other humans froze, too, some of them looking at the glass cases, some with alarmed eyes turned on them.

“What are you playing at?!” Beelzebub hissed, teeth bared and eyebrows scrunched, a light that burned like hellfire in the depths of their darkened gaze. Aziraphale gaped.

“I’m— What?” he managed to utter, choked. For someone so short, Beelzebub was surprisingly strong, keeping him pinned on the wall a few centimetres off the ground.

“You—“ Beelzebub barked, but their grip on Aziraphale seemed to soften. “Whatever it iz you are doing, stop it!”

“I’m not—“ Aziraphale choked out again, squirming in a fruitless attempt to free himself, hands on Beelzebub’s wrists. “I’m not doing _anything_!”

Beelzebub glared at him even more, let out a wordless, frustrated noise, and then disappeared with a pop. Aziraphale fell down, crumbling on his knees and coughing as the humans around them un-froze and all looked around, disconcerted.

“What the— Sir? Are you alright?” the young man with the museum shirt asked, sounding utterly confused. “I could’ve sworn there was someone— Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Aziraphale blinked, sight slightly watery, looking around as well. Not a sign was left of Beelzebub but a very faint smell of sulphur.

—

All in all, they had learned some things. That was why they were standing there, now, in front of that closed door. They waited a second, two, three, and finally pushed the button. A muffled ring echoed from behind the door, which opened instantly as if someone had been standing and waiting on the other side.

“Give me a good reason I shouldn’t dump a bucket of holy water on you,” Crowley declared, a deep frown visible even from behind his glasses. He leaned over the door frame, arms crossed on his chest.

“Iz the Angel around?” Beelzebub asked, unfazed. Crowley’s eyebrows twisted even more.

“No. And if you think you’ll ever see him again you’re completely out of your—“

“Good.”

Crowley’s mouth closed with an audible snap. “What?”

“We need to dizcuzz this. I think the bloody Angel haz been brainwashing you.”

Crowley’s slid off the door frame in his surprise, allowing them to cross the entrance under his arm. There was sputtering behind them, followed by a door slammed close, and then a disbelieving laugh.

“You think Aziraphale has been _brainwashing_ me? What?!”

Beelzebub wasn’t notorious for their patience, and they knew it. They turned on their heels, glowering.

“Let’z make thiz clear. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you, Crowley, but I’m not an idiot, and you’ve always been good at what you do, for how painful it iz to admit it,” they let out in almost a single breath, determined to not give Crowley enough time to be smug. “You’re an insufferable little znake, but you _did_ your job. So why would you turn your back on uz when the war was finally about to happen? It doezn’t make sense.”

Crowley was gaping at them, still frowning. Beelzebub trudged on “The Angel must’ve warped you. What other explanation iz there? But now that I know, maybe we can do something about it. Bring you back to reazon. Lucifer would probably forgive you, he’s always had a zoft spot for you—“

“Fuck’s sake, you really think that, don’t you?” Crowley interjected, sounding slightly breathless. Another disbelieving little laugh came out of his mouth. “Really. You’ve been buzzing us up for months and you haven’t learned anything yet, haven’t you?”

“Well, I’ll admit this planet haz some… Redeeming qualities,” Beelzebub conceded begrudgingly. “But the problem it’z not this planet, it’z the Angel casting his spell on you—“

“It _is_ about the planet! About how all of you would’ve gladly destroyed the only place it’s worth spending our cursed fucking existence on!” Crowley snapped back, throwing an arm out. “And fuck off. Aziraphale is the one good thing that has ever happened to me, if you think I’m just going to— Sit there and let you talk that way about him—“

“Are you lizztening to yourzzzelf?!” Beelzebub cried back, unable to hold the buzzing at bay. “The bloody Angel has you wrapped around his finger, and you can’t even see it! And he’s trying to do the zzzame to me!”

That gave Crowley a visible pause. He froze, a hand mid air, and stared back with a suddenly flat expression. He stared some more as Beelzebub glared back, allowing him some time to think. Surely, now that he knew, Crowley would start to notice the pattern, would see how the Angel had swindled and controlled him—

“Excuse me but, _what_?”

Beelzebub sighed. Crowley might’ve been under the Angel’s thumb for so long it might take him a good long while to break free.

“I can’t believe I haven’t noticed sooner,” they replied with a little head shake. “It’s so obviouz in retrospect. The Angel lures you in, lulls you into a falzze sense of zzzecurity, and then starts to _worm_ hizzz way in. I thought— I thought nothing of it, but now I know, I _know_ why I can’t zzzztop bloody _thinking_ about him!”

There was another long moment of silence, as Crowley’s eyebrow seemed very intently to be climbing all the way up to his forehead.

“He’s taken. Very taken, just to make things clear. And I don’t share.”

“Oh, for Zatan’s zake! I have no interest in zzzzmoching up an Angel, that’z disguzting!”

“_Oi_—“

“But can’t you zee it? Why would I even spare a single thought for a bloody Angel?! He’z a wolf in sheep’s clothing!”

“Hold on, slow down a minute, here,” Crowley replied, massaging his eyes, a hand held up. “What do you mean with ‘I can’t stop thinking about him’?”

_Isn’t it obviouz?!_ Beelzebub wanted to snap back, but no words came out as they gaped.

How did it even start? They weren’t sure. They cared not for the Angel, at first. He was but a mean to an end, someone they’d gladly use if it meant trying to make sense of _everything_.

What other choice did they have? They’ve been feeling so lost since the botched apocalypse. Millennia they’ve spent preparing for it, only to see everything go up in smokes. They had to juggle a Hell full of disgruntled Demons, trying to put things back in order and carry on, with absolutely no idea what were they supposed to do, now.

Which other choice they had, if not trying to understand what was so special about Earth, for it to be more than just the promised battlefield, for it to be the cause of the apocalypse not happening in the first place?

The Angel was nothing but a guide conveniently placed on the planet for them, at first. An annoying, frumpy, fussy guide, but someone who clearly knew what they were talking about. And then—

And then the Angel started being something more. Thoughts of him started to intrude in Beelzebub’s mind. Making them wonder what the Angel would show them next, make them wonder if they could show up a bit sooner that they last did, this time around. Making them wonder if they’d ever be welcome in the forbidden space of the bookshop, if there was anything Beelzebub could possibly teach to the individual that was teaching them so much.

And then… Then the bloody museum happened. They couldn’t help but listen, enraptured, as the Angel spoke of the bugs they could see pinned on the other side of a glass wall. He spoke with something melancholic in his voice, and Beelzebub couldn’t help but wonder what could be the reason. They couldn’t help but ask themselves, why did the Angel even knew so much? Why did he _care_?

There was already something writhing in the depths of their corporation as they listened on, an uneasiness impossible to explain. And then they turned, and _something_ happened.

The Angel was standing near a wall, surrounded by fuzzy images of butterflies moving about. He was looking up at them, the lines of his profile mixing with the colors around him, looking unbearably _sad_. And yet a different image was strongly presenting itself in Beelzebub’s mind, the image of the very same Angel, white tunic and white wings, surrounded by butterflies, laughing heartily as the small creatures fluttered around his head, giving the impression of a colourful halo. It was so vivid, the light almost blinding, the green around him so bright it could hurt. And a smile that reached his eyes, a smile surrounded by colour, so very different from the tired melancholia of the frumpy Angel who was quietly standing there, in a weak imitation of the strange scene in Beelzebub’s mind, masquerading as a mortal between other mortals.

And that had been the moment they realized what was going on. The Angel was trying to get into their head, to plant lies and deception in there, to drag them on his side as they must’ve done with Crowley already.

It was a good thing Beelzebub managed to escape before the Angel could sink roots in them, Satan only knew what would’ve happened in that case.

Crowley was still staring, clearly waiting for more. They sighed, explaining briefly what happened, the Angel’s attempt to hypnotise them that surely he had kept well hidden, when relaying his own version of the facts to Crowley.

“Oh, shit,” Crowley exhaled, rising the glasses away from his eyes. They were fully yellow as he stared with his mouth slightly open, and Beelzebub felt a smug sense of satisfaction. Maybe the idiot snake was finally getting around to reason. “Shit. You don’t _know_.”

The smugness slid away rapidly like oil. “Know what?”

“Shit. I thought that you, of all Demons, would choose to remember—“

“Remember?” they asked, exasperated. Crowley was making this needlessly difficult. “Remember _what_?”

“You don’t remember Heaven!” Crowley cried and groaned, head lolling backwards in clear exasperation. “Seriously, is there anyone else who remembers other than _me_?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t pozzibly remember. Only Satan can.”

“I can. I _do_. How can you not remember? Haven’t you wondered, at least once, why the fuck you even got kicked out of Heaven?!”

“It’z not our place to wonder,” Beelzebub replied, miffed. “Why would I care? Heaven iz the enemy! Why would I give any importance to the reazon they forzzzaken uz? And what does it have to do with—“

Their mouth snapped close, as understanding clicked.

No— That couldn’t be _possible_.

Crowley was looking at them with something dangerously close to concern, glasses abandoned between the strand of red hair above his forehead. He said nothing, just kept looking, fingers curled on his mouth. Beelzebub looked back, lost.

“How—“ they started, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “If what you are implying iz even true, how would _you_ know?”

“Aziraphale told me, after— After that first time you came here. For the knife,” his frown deepened as he added. “He _remembers_ you, Beez. He always has. He was your _friend_.”

“That’z— That’z ridicolouz!” they snapped back, irritated. There was no way— This must be just another way to try and confuse them. Another little scheme the Angel must be deploying using Crowley—

Crowley sighed deeply, “Just think about it logically. You are a prince of Hell, and he’s a demoted Principality. He doesn’t even work for Heaven anymore! Do you really think he’d have the power to— Implant ideas into your mind, just like that? No, what you saw— It must be your own memory. It’s still in _there_, somewhere.”

Of all the tense silences they experienced through the conversation, not one was quite as tense as this one. Beelzebub gaped, disbelieving, confused, bewildered.

Could Crowley possibly be telling the truth? Wasn’t the Angel acting in bad faith?

Did he… Really remember?

Why would the Angel even bother helping, if he had known them before the Fall? That was possibly even worse than helping a Demon you’ve never met before! The Angel must know exactly which kind of wretched, unforgivable individual Beelzebub must’ve been, for being cast out of Heaven, and yet decided to go along with their request.

How could that be?

“…I zee that you’re a lost cause,” they said, shaking their head. No, that couldn’t possibly be the truth. There must be any other explanation, anything that made more sense than _that_.

“Beez—“ Crowley started, sounding almost pitying. That was the last straw.

They were gone before the snake could add anything else.

—

_For a place supposed to be the most harmonious, most peaceful of creation, Heaven sure could be frustrating._

_Hanael stomped through the greenery, but it wasn’t really satisfying, not when the soft grass under their feet muted the noise of their angry steps. One couldn’t even have a decent stomping tantrum around these parts._

_No point in letting those guys’ words get to them, they tried to tell themselves. What did they know about all the attention to detail Hanael was putting in their creations? Absolutely nothing!_

_No one recognized _ ** _art_ ** _, around there._

_By the time they reached the little clearing where they left some work to be yet finished, someone was there. Hanael groaned inwardly, readying themselves to put up with another round of criticism._

_Except… Except they did not recognize the Angel currently bending down through the grass. He didn’t look tall and fit like the Cherubs, nor beautifully imposing like the Archangels. He was… Soft. Soft body, soft blond curls, soft wings white as clouds._

_And he was smiling as if he’d seen something incredibly interesting as he observed the grasshopper that was jumping around him. He followed the movement of a dragonfly coming by with his nose in the air, clearly interested. He picked up something tiny and red with impossibly delicate gestures, carefully sitting between the grass to observe the small creature held in his palm._

_Well. That was new._

_—_

_Life was easy when you were put onto creating majestic living beings inspired their own existence, with strong wings that would carry them through the skies, or when you were responsible of making strong ones that would walk on four legs, with claws and fangs that would surely make them reign over the other creations that would fill nature._

_Hanael’s life wasn’t easy._

_But they didn’t mind. Who needed to be swooned over by hordes of Angels? Hanael might not ever be complimented for the accomplishment of creating the tiger, nor for the creativity of birds of paradise, but they had, in their modest opinion, something much better._

_They had a friend. And no one was as good as being a number one fan as Aziraphale was, after all._

_Aziraphale loved to sit and listen. He would nod and hum in all the right places, ask always poignant questions, marvel at the solutions Hanael thought of for the little critters they were responsible of creating. He treated them with delicate respect, observing closely, smiling at this or that, allow them to crawl all over him without a single flinch or sign of disgust. Hanael always thought that Aziraphale looked very nice with a shining, colourful beetle between his pale hair._

_Aziraphale just looked like he was meant to be surrounded by colourful things. That was what gave them the idea, and they were almost impatiently vibrating as they guided Aziraphale toward the spot a surprise was waiting for._

_Aziraphale was eagerly following, clearly intrigued at the idea of a surprise. He had already asked three times what it was supposed to be, receiving an amused “if I tell you it won’t be a surprise anymore!” in return._

_“Wait here,” Hanael said, grinning to themselves as they finally left Aziraphale standing in the middle of the clearing. They stepped back, still smiling as Aziraphale obeyed, not moving an inch even if he was looking around with curious eyes. Hanael awaited just a second more, before snapping their fingers to start the show._

_A silent cloud of colours rose from the grass. Aziraphale let out a small, elated “oh!” as the newly created butterflies started to flutter around him, like curious little splashes of paint. There were so many, all of them results of endless days of tireless work. Some of them were small, some big. Yellow ones fluttered about Aziraphale’s shoulder as if saying ‘hello!’, and a red one decided to rest on his cheek. Others circled him curiously, the metal-like sheen on their wings shining like gems in the sun. It was a triumph of blues, pinks, yellows and greens. Aziraphale laughed and turned around, trying to take it all in, hands held out to allow some of the butterflies to land on his fingers._

_“These are just… I don’t know what to say!” he exclaimed, sounding vaguely breathless, the smile seemingly stapled on his face. Hanael nodded to themselves, satisfied. Aziraphale’s reactions never disappointed._

_“I was thinking about the caterpillars, some time ago,” they said, closing the distance between them. The few butterflies that weren’t already resting on Aziraphale’s shoulders, hair and hands fluttered to them, to pick their own spot. “I just felt like they were missing something. I mean, they were already fine, just going around and eating leaves, but why not give them the chance to taste the skies as well?”_

_“Oh my!” Aziraphale exclaimed, observing the butterflies lazily moving their wings on his hands. “You mean to say these were caterpillars? They look so different!”_

_“They go through a very intense change, yes. They definitely work to become like this.”_

_“Oh, they are so beautiful… How could they possibly change so much? It sounds so exciting!”_

_Yep. Aziraphale’s reactions never disappointed._

_“I’ll tell you all about it, but I wanted to ask you something, first,” Hanael replied, a little grin on their faces. “Would you like to come with me and meet Lucifer? He has very interesting things to say, you might like it.”_

_—_

_“Hello, Hanael. Alone today as well?”_

_Hanael looked down, wings twitching slightly. They nodded._

_“I see. Well, nothing to be done about that, I suppose,” Lucifer sighed, vaguely shaking his head, blond curls bobbing on his shoulder. “I’m sure your friend will come around, if he truly is as smart as you say he is.”_

_There were dubious glances launched in their direction, but Hanael paid them no mind. And why would they? They knew Aziraphale had real potential, they knew he was far more talented than many Angels sitting on roles of leadership. Aziraphale cared about everything his fellow angels did, for a start. He was the only one who ever showed genuine interest in what Hanael did, the only one who sincerely complimented their hard work._

_Why were other Angels, Angels who were far more dismissive, always acting with a snobbish attitude, leading everyone else? Wouldn’t someone like Aziraphale, someone who actually took an interest in all the different sides of creation, be far more suited for such a role? It was something Hanael couldn’t understand._

_But Lucifer did. Lucifer understood, and was ready to challenge the status quo, for a better, more just Heaven. Hanael really did not get why Aziraphale seemed so reticent, so unsure. He could do great things at Lucifer’s side, he just needed to _ ** _see_ ** _ it._

** _Next time_ ** _, Hanael decided. The next time they’d reunite around Lucifer, Aziraphale would surely come. They just had to convince him._

—

_Their eyes met through the dust._

_Hanael had no strength anymore. The battle was started, the battle raged, and now it was being lost. They knew what was about to happen, they could feel it on their back, in the way their wings burned and stung, feathers dropping one after the other, a trail between the chaos._

_Whatever they wanted, it wasn’t this. They didn’t know what they wanted, not anymore. They were so sure it would all be for the good of Heaven. But now…_

_Now they weren’t so sure anymore._

_Feathers trailed behind them as they stumbled around with no real goal. Just wanting to get away, just wishing it would all stop. And then their eyes met._

_Aziraphale stared at them, pale blond hair stained with soot, drop of gold on his cheeks, his tunic, his still perfectly white wings. The blade in his hand flamed, uncaring. Hanael didn’t know if the idea of finally falling by their own friend’s hand was consoling or horrifying._

_But they dipped their head, regardless, closing their eyes. If it had to happen, then so be it._

_It didn’t. _

_The sword clanged loudly on the floor when Aziraphale let it drop, and then warm arms were circling Hanael, pulling them close._

_“No—“ Aziraphale sobbed. They’ve never touched ever since they’ve met, not like that— He was soft. Warm. “Please—“_

_Hanael said nothing. Why were they so stupid? If only they had realized sooner what Lucifer really meant— Maybe they could’ve chosen differently. Maybe they could’ve stayed behind, with Aziraphale._

_But no matter what, it all happened. Hanael’s wing were feathery no more, and the weight on their shoulders was growing stronger. They’d soon sink away, away from Heaven…_

_Would they drag Aziraphale with them? The idea was unbearable._

_“You have to let me go,” they managed to say, hoarse. Barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I should’ve listened to you— But you have to let me go, now. I won’t drag you down with me—“_

_Aziraphale said nothing. Hanael could feel him shake his head frantically against their shoulder_

_Stupid, gentle, soft Aziraphale. Would he forsake himself, if it meant not letting go?_

_Hanael wasn’t going to be the one to answer that question. They collected whatever strength was left in them, and pushed. Aziraphale stumbled back with a surprised cry. They looked at each other one last time, and then Hanael Fell._

_It burned, and it hurt, and Hanael had no idea what awaited them. But they knew one thing: They’d never be able to live in peace with themselves, now. Casted away, their new owner the same individual who led them to this, knowing what they’d just lost._

_Now they knew what it felt to be held by someone who cared. To feel the love, the gentleness. They knew, and they also knew they’d never get the chance to ever feel something so beautiful again._

_Somewhere, in the deepest, most hidden depths of Hanael’s souls, they decided it would be all the better to just… Forget._

_By the time they hit ground, Hanael was no more._

—

“Wondering what I’m doing out here?” Crowley asked to seemingly no one. He took a long drag of the cigarette held between middle and ring fingers, letting the smoke outin rings. “He won’t let me smoke inside, says it stinks up the place. As if I don’t know that _he_ smokes insides, when he wants to.”

He let out a chuckle as Beelzebub emerged from the darkness. It was deep enough into the night even the roads of Soho were deserted, and Crowley was sitting on the steps leading to the bookshop, the tip of the cigarette a point of bright orange in the badly lit corner.

“Sssooo…” he slurred, throwing the only half burnt cigarette on the ground and grinding it under a heel. He then made a vague gesture, making it disappear. “What brings you here?”

It had been more than a month. Beelzebub said nothing, merely stood there. Crowley glanced at them above his glasses.

“Back to trying claiming me back from the big, bad Angel?” he asked, a sarcastic note to his voice. “You know, if Aziraphale really brainwashed me, I think he did a very poor job of it.”

“…How zo?” Beelzebub finally spoke, quietly. Crowley chuckled again.

“If he had brainwashed me to do his bidding, I probably wouldn’t be annoyed by him half as much as I am now,” he opened a hand in front of his face, starting to count on his fingers. “He’s so fussy, and a downright bastard when he wants to be. He always wants the last word, and would rather eat mud than to admit when he’s wrong. He can ignore me for hours if he’s particularly engrossed in some books. I’m pretty sure he loves cake more than he loves me, and that is _saying_ something.”

He rose to his feet, dusting his backside, “And yet, I love him. I love him so much that I want to always be with him, I want to see his smile and hear his laugh, and sometimes I want to annoy him. I want him to launch me that look that says ‘I’m _this_ close to smiting you’ and want to make him sigh in the most long-suffering way possible. I want to see him roll eyes and shake his head, and know that, despite how much we can nip and grumble at each other, we’ll keep being together, because we want to be. That doesn’t seem like an effective way to control someone, isn’t it?”

A long beat of silence, and then, “I’m zztarting to remember more.”

“Good. Then you can tell me if he was such a little shit back then as well. Never met him in Heaven,” Crowley shoved both hands in his pockets, tilting his head on a side. “So, why are you here?”

Beelzebub looked away, taking into the quiet, empty road. It was strange, being in a place with so much _space_. But also… Relieving.

No one knew what they had been doing, yet. But underlings were starting to notice something amiss, muttering to one another, questioning, _doubting_. Beelzebub certainly started to find more and more insufferable the crowded corridors of Hell, the leaky rooms, the barely lit corners. More than six thousand years, and there they went, getting infected with the ‘Earth’ virus.

There they went, remembering who they once were in Heaven.

Yet, they couldn’t bring themselves to regret it. The more they remembered, the more they realized they wanted to remember. Even if it hurt, even if it was confusing… For the first time in millennia, they felt whole. They understood.

They had no idea how long they could keep the fact they’ve been visiting Earth hidden. For all they knew, they might find themselves in dire need of a hiding place, and soon.

Crowley… Crowley did not like them, and arguably they still did not like Crowley as well.

But Aziraphale… The Aziraphale who was emerging from their memories did not seem much different from the one who accepted to play guide on Earth. he was more experienced, mostly, but still _Aziraphale_.

And maybe there was something they could build on that.

“I’m not quite sure,” they admitted quietly. Blessedly, there was no teasing from Crowley, so they continued. “I guezz… Maybe we can… Talk.”

“…Alright, give me a minute,” Crowley said, strangely softly. He turned on his heels, getting back into the bookshop. Beelzebub waited, the only noises the occasional car driving by, and then the door opened again.

Aziraphale blinked down at them, expression unreadable. He was wearing a pair of small reading glasses and a jacket that looked soft and comfortable rather than the coat he usually wore. The first impression he gave was different from the Aziraphale in their memories, whose wings were proudly displayed, wearing the same tunic as most Angels did back then.

But his eyes were all the same. The lines on his face. The light blond of his curls.

And the same smile, now pulling timidly at his mouth as he took off the glasses, “Crowley?”

“Mh?”

“Do you feel like taking a stroll?”

“Sure,” Crowley replied from somewhere in the bookshop, sounding simultaneously amused and exasperated. He appeared from behind the Angel, the lightly coloured coat on an arm.

“Oh, my dear, thank you,” Aziraphale softly said, shedding the soft jacket in favor of the coat. Beelzebub observed as Crowley slunk himself down the brief steps like the snake he was, giving them a smirk that could’ve meant anything. Aziraphale carefully closed the door with a key turn, before joining them.

He was still smiling.

“Shall we?”

Beelzebub wordlessly nodded back. And as they stepped through an empty street, only them, their two improbable companions, and silence, they started to feel like maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, from now on.

After all, they had a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be honest, I'm not 100% satisfied with this fic, but I've been sitting on it for ages tweaking this or that, adding or taking out things, and yet I can't pin-point exactly what leaves me feeling unsure. But I don't want to throw any more time in it, and I'd argue it is finished, so I thought I'd throw it on the internet anyway. I hope you guys enjoyed it?
> 
> And also, as usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/NohaVale)


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